


Sanguinaria

by nebulera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 09 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 05:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulera/pseuds/nebulera
Summary: The storm rages on.





	Sanguinaria

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately post-9x08 "Evolution".

Aaron didn’t know how far away from the group they had gotten, or how far away the horses were. Sheer adrenaline and the instinctual impulse that’s only purpose was to make sure he stayed alive were the only two things keeping him upright as he sprinted through the dense forest, littered with nature being battered by the harsh contents of their creator in the form of an unforgiving storm. And despite the lightning breaking open the sky, the thunder resonating like the echo of a gun, he could still hear the unnerving whispers carrying faintly through the wind, leaving behind the ghost they created.

He barely recognizes when he loses his footing and falls onto his prosthetic first, his impact with the ground dwarfed by the explosions of the sky flooding his ears. He can’t breathe suddenly, the rain beating his back and the dirt in his mouth punishing him without mercy.

He doesn’t come close to helping himself up — Daryl’s hand, glistening with rain, is outstretched in front of him, and Aaron takes it without a word. They continue on, sprinting faster than light, to nowhere in particular.

They hear one single bark in the distance. Aaron doesn’t slow, turns to see how far ahead of the dead they were, and turning back he sees Daryl doing the same, in addition to a glance towards Aaron, making sure he was indeed still behind him. They speed up and follow the sound of the dog.

They round into a small clearing where in the middle there sat the smallest shack, holding their biggest hopes. Their flashlights come on at once. The hut has been weathered by time, and the man-made structure is slowly succumbing to the fierce grips of nature, where moss and blooming wildflowers called it their home. At the base of it all sat their damp companion, shaking at the front door.

“Daryl — ”

“There, c’mon,” Daryl says through breathless pants, never raising his voice, like the supposed roamers were close. Aaron nods and he follows Daryl into the shelter.

As soon as they’re inside, their flashlight beams sprint across the walls, searching for any possible dead. The place is as small as it appears on the outside with one window, and Daryl reaches for the withered curtains to cover it as soon as he realizes they’re alone.

Aside from the cabinets lining the wall and a sink, and a lone mattress in the corner, the cabin was empty of anything for immediate use. Aaron’s walks to the side of the house facing west, eyes scanning the wall completely barren except for a lone cross that was crooked on its side. And Aaron realizes at once just how cold he is.

“I’ve been here before,” he says while regaining his breath, turning to Daryl who’s been looking through the cabinets before directing his attention to Aaron. “Eric and I scavenged this place years ago when we were looking for people.” The cross might as well have been a sign to the gods. “There’s nothing here.”

The memory of Eric is only adding to the pain wracking Aaron’s body. His legs are burning, so he backs to the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. His head is pounding, his chest still spiking with pain from losing someone less than an hour prior, his mouth dry and begging for relief. He reaches into his bag for his water jug, and to his luck it’s completely empty.

“ _Dammit._ ”

He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound as broken as it is, and he knows his face is crumbling with every second that passes. His eyes well up with overdue tears as he buries his face in his hands.

Something gently bumps his knee and Aaron looks up with bleary eyes to Daryl offering his water can. “Here,” he mutters simply.

Aaron’s eyebrows furrow. “I — ”

“Don’t argue ‘bout it. Just drink.”

Aaron takes it from him with a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“We should stay here a while.” Daryl strides across the limited floor, to glance out the window past the ragged curtains, Dog on his heels. “Avoid the rain and the walkers.”

Aaron finishes his sip from the jug and closes it, his eyes on the floor. “Those weren’t walkers.”

It’s like the walls come crashing down. The people posing as the dead that killed Jesus — he plays it over and over again in his head, thinking hard, reaching into the back of his mind, wishing this wasn’t real, and wondering what he could have done differently. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, and yet Aaron can’t help but feel he aided somehow. He should’ve stayed back to help Jesus, then maybe it would have been him to —

“Shit,” Aaron gasps, his cheeks wet with a mixture of tears and the rain. “We just left him there.”

He looks up to meet Daryl’s eyes, shakes his head. “Couldn’t even get his body.” They’d had to fight and leave so quickly there wasn’t any time.

“We’ll go back for ‘im,” Daryl reassures, reaching up to grip his crossbow sling.

Even with his lack of words, Daryl still always knows what to say. And maybe it’s the confidence in the things he does out here, or the bonafide words of a man who has endured, that makes Aaron believe he means it. Maybe it’s something else, too.

“We gotta get through this first,” Daryl finishes.

Aaron nods. “Okay. We will.”

He rises to stand straight but to no avail. He dizzily braces himself against the wall.

“Lay down an’ get some rest. I’ll keep a lookout.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Sitting down on the mattress, Aaron instinctively reaches up to release his arm before deciding against it. He usually sleeps without it, but for tonight he doesn’t know if they’ll be leaving in a hurry or not. He sighs, rubs his hand over his tired eyes. He feels the gentle touch of Daryl’s hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t think when he reaches up to grasp it. He squeezes it reassuringly, looking up at Daryl with gentle eyes before letting go.

“Wake me up in a few so you can rest a while.”

Daryl shakes his head. “M’good,” he says. Aaron means to argue, but then he’s laying down and the darkness takes over.

 

…

 

It’s still dark out when he wakes. The storm has simmered down, though he can hear the remnants of the rain pattering along the roof. Mixed in it all were the sounds of the supposed dead.

Sitting up, Aaron’s eyes flicker to Daryl standing by the window, subtly looking past the translucent curtains.

“Daryl.”

“They know we’re here,” Daryl says, gripping his sling tightly, the shadows on his face morphing into a grim acceptance, and something worse that Aaron can’t put his finger on. “They’re circling the place. They’re waiting for us to give.”

Aaron crosses to the window and confirms for his own eyes: there aren’t many but they were eerily walking in a circle around the house, effectively trapping them in. Getting out would be another fight.

Aaron’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you think we should — ”

He turns around and sees Daryl kneeling down by Dog, scratching behind his ear. “Be a good boy out there,” he says quietly. He turns to Aaron, a grave look on his face and everything falls into place. He’s trying to say goodbye.

Aaron still asks. “What are you doing?”

Daryl’s eyes were here, yet far away. “I’m gonna lead ‘em away.”

“No,” Aaron whispers, shaking his head. Daryl says nothing. “ _No._ Michonne and the others could be out there looking for us. We wait them out.”

“You’re betting your life on that?”

“I’m not betting yours out there!” Aaron exclaims. It’s like everything he’s said before and more. They were here, in this very spot together all those years ago, trapped inside the suffocating confines of a car, only they were dealing with mindless walkers, and even then Aaron refused to send Daryl off to his inevitable death.

“You’re gonna have ta.”

“Stop. They will  _kill_ you,” Aaron tries weakly. He takes one step closer to the archer. “I lost one friend today, I’m not losing you, too.”

Daryl’s eyes shift into something Aaron can’t name. His breath hinders. And it’s almost too easy to think back to what a young girl in a sheriff's deputy hat said to him days ago. “If you go, I go.”

The archer shakes his head.

“Why — ”

“I don’t want ya to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to let you do this alone,” Aaron says. Daryl’s eyes move from the ground, set on Aaron’s face, and he begins closing the small space between them. “Daryl, I — ”

Aaron would like to say he remembers how he was going to finish that sentence, though he can’t because any significant space between him and Daryl becomes irrelevant, and the other man is kissing him.

It’s not rough or passionate; it’s gentle, it’s careful, it makes Aaron’s heart beat quicker. The hand Daryl places on the back of his neck is so considerate, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt him.

They break away, staying close enough so their foreheads stay pressed together. Seconds pass, drag out for millions of years, before Aaron is leaning back in to make up for lost time. He claims Daryl’s lips with his again, his right hand reaching up to rest caress the side of his face.

The dark is still upon them, the storm has barely ended, and the people posing as the dead were still groaning outside their door. Daryl’s hand is shaking against the back of his neck.

Aaron pulls away. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question. This isn’t your decision.”

The sun was coming up. Aaron’s thumb strokes over Daryl’s rough cheek, his dark hair slipping between his fingers. He wishes they could stay this close, wishes they didn’t have to be in this situation. But if they make it out of here alive, he’ll be grateful for this for the rest of his life.

The archer meets his eyes, and for the first time Aaron sees uncertainty.

“We’re making it out of here. Together,” Aaron says firmly. He lets his face relax into something he’s only reserved for a few people, people he was close to. His eyes soften and he smiles. “ _D_ _aryl._ ” His voice smooth and warm.

The corner of Daryl’s lips twitch, his gaze tender. He nuzzles their noses, then regretfully pulls away. “Okay.” His eyes set dangerously for the door. His unslings his crossbow, and suddenly he’s the hard-looking hunter Aaron met all those years ago. He’s ready to go.

Dog hovers around their legs. Aaron grabs his bag, pulls out his knife. He glances once more at Daryl, their eyes meeting briefly. Then the door flies open and arrows go soaring, and a katana unsheathes.

 

…

 

Aaron wipes the blood from his face. “She can’t be more than seventeen.”

The last of the “walkers” alive was a young girl with dark hair. Passed out on the ground, Michonne is binding her hands and readying a blindfold. Magna and Yumiko are somewhere close by.

“I know,” Michonne says. “We’re bringing her back.”

“To Alexandria?”

“ _No._ Hilltop. There has to be more of them. I’m going to find out.”

Aaron nods. They were right outside of the shelter, and around him there’s countless dead in grotesque masks, their blood fresh on his hands. Their surroundings were tainted with everything wrong with this new world, but they were all still alive, and Aaron could breathe.

“Are you going straight back to Alexandria?” Michonne asks, though eyeing him with doubt. Aaron knows they need to talk about his protocol violations and the lying, but there’s a time for everything, and they both knew it was not now.

“No. I need to get to Hilltop and find out what these people are. You’re not alone in this, Michonne.” He misses his daughter and he’ll see her soon. He needs to see Rosita, he needs to make sure Eugene will be alright, he needs to be there when they bury Jesus. He needs to make sure his family is okay.

He needs to get ready to fight.

Michonne nods, determined as him. “Eugene’s with the horses. We better get going.”

Aaron watches as she and the newcomers walk off with the younger girl. He sighs, forces his tired eyes open, his body weak from the restless night finally steadying itself.

“Hey.”

Aaron doesn’t have to turn very much to see the archer come to his side, his hand reaching up to grip his shoulder. His eyes scan over Aaron’s front, over his rough face, then focus on his bloody arm. “Y’alright?”

Aaron smiles, shrugs a little. “A bit scratched up, but I’ll live. You?”

“M’good.”

Aaron’s right hand reaches for Daryl’s left. The other man lets him tangle their fingers together for a brief solace that they were both here, that they were alive.

“Ready to head back?” Daryl nods, and Aaron squeezes his hand one last time before letting go.

It was nearly dawn. The wind had finally settled, the fog dissipated, and the promise of a morning light was slipping through the trees. The rain had completely subsided, and the calm after the storm had begun.

They share a look, one full of promise, before they continue on the long journey home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> yay or nay


End file.
